


Ichor

by willow_mannequin



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, mafia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-14 08:51:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16909896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/willow_mannequin/pseuds/willow_mannequin
Summary: As an aftermath of his close encounter of the third kind with a mobster, Hinata has two choices - bring trouble to his family or carry out the mobster’s inane request.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I marked this mature partly for the language Kageyama tends to use, partly for the content that will, at a later point, appear. It's not intended as a dark fic, so no particularly dark themes/subjects are going to be discussed at length. Should there be any popular triggers in a chapter, I'll mention it in the notes at the beginning.

Running down the street, Hinata stretches his legs as far as he can. People’s faces rush by, features blurring; shops’ sign boards rush by, words blurring; far ahead, the rapidly approaching end of the street hovers in stillness. Ducking under branches of a tree hanging above a brick fence, he the sweet, heavy scent of ripe and rotting plums reaches him, and his steps echo off the wall, mingling with the sound of the swift rush of wind in his ears.

He picks up his pace, face heating, when he passes a series of three love hotels on his right. Their pink and red neon signs are off, dark and unblinking, but he is pretty sure it doesn’t mean anything. He doesn’t want to be seen too near them.

He skips to a near stop as he gets close to the corner, rounding it and nearly running into an old lady who grumbles as he whirls to avoid knocking into her. He says ‘sorry’ out loud, in far too much hurry to try to properly stop and apologize, and runs on ahead, squinting when the morning’s sunlight glints off some window at the side of the road and blinds him for a split second.

He takes another three bounds and the glare of the sunlight eases off, disappearing; he opens his eyes wider and something black appears mere inches away, gleaming like a magpie’s plumage - a green-and-blue-and-purple gloss. 

Whatever it is, he crashes into it hard - his breath knocked out of his lungs, he is sent spiralling and sprawling on the pavement in a heap of legs and arms and clothes and the book bag that spills its contents all over around him with a cascade of dull thuds and flutter of loose papers slowly falling to settle, rustling, on the ground.

He blinks up at the sky up above where an indifferent, rose-colored cloud slowly passes by, heading towards the rising sun; the back of his head hurts. Both of his knees hurt and there is a pulsing pain in his right hand. When he brings it up in front of his eyes, his palm is scraped and dirty, thin red lines appearing where the skin was scraped off on the concrete pavement. 

“Ow,” he says out loud.

Two dark shapes appear in his circle of vision and he is heaved up and set down standing on his feet. When he tries to move away though, the two men at his sides just keep holding him, their hands tight on his forearms. Their black suits don’t have a speck of dust on them.

Hinata looks between the men. They aren’t meeting his eyes, staring ahead blankly instead. He turns his head forward.

There is a third man, in front of him. His suit gleams like a magpie’s feathers and his white shirt sports a wide and still spreading coffee stain. His heart having ceased its beat, Hinata shifts his gaze from the stain to the paper cup in the man’s hand and then up, towards the man’s face.

Hinata tries swallowing through his rapidly drying throat but his body refuses to obey. The man tsks loudly, touching the front of his suit and the stain.

“We’re going to have a little problem here, don’t we,’ the man says, in a voice as even and as cold as a frozen pool.

The men in black suits release his arms; Hinata stumbles, and throws himself down into the deepest bow he can manage, his head almost knocking into his knees. His vision swims, transforming the pavement speckled with dirt beneath his feet into a peculiar, swinging visage. “I’m- I’m most sorry, sir-” he starts, voice cracking. His hands start shaking. Then his ankles, his knees, his shoulders. He trembles all over, washed over with fear.

Out of all people in the vicinity, Hinata had to run into a goddamn mafioso.

“Do you see what you have done?” the man asks. Hinata shudders. The man’s smooth-shaven face is contorted in an expression of deep annoyance and he crumples the paper cup in his hand, droplets of coffee spilling from it onto the ground.

Hinata is tempted to cry. Or run away. Possibly both at the same time. But even if he does try to run away, he has a feeling that whoever the man is, Hinata will be found. And will be dealt with - either swiftly and efficiently, or slowly and painfully. He can’t say he fancies either thought.

“I’m very sorry. I’m- I’m late to school and that’s why I was running and- and run into you- all an accident-” Out of the corner of his eye, Hinata can see the passersby walking up and down the street, parting right before the little ring of stillness where Hinata and the mobsters are standing, and merging again right after passing it. Each and every one of them appears to mind their own business and their own business only - but he sees them glancing over their shoulders, curious but shying away from the mere thought of getting involved and perhaps saving an innocent soul from the hands of criminals. He can’t even despise them; he knows he would do just the same if he was one of them and it was someone else in his current predicament. 

“Not really my problem, is it?” the man says.

“I’ll pay!” Hinata cries out. “For the cleaning! I swear-”

What possessed him to try to take this shortcut? His mom has told him so many times, ‘Do not even think about going there, passing through there, don’t even look in that direction.’ And she was right. She was right, as always. Look where ignoring her words took him. If he emerges from this alive, he shall abide her every word from now on. From ‘don’t follow strangers’ to ‘clean your room, right this instant’, as she often tells him. He shall do it all, to the letter. Provided he survives long enough to see her again, of course.  _ Oh, mother, _ he thinks mournfully.  _ Your first born son is not long for this world. _

He knew he wasn’t supposed to set his foot in this shady district and yet. And yet.

When he focuses back on the man in front of him, the mobster is regarding him, sizing him up and down, with curiosity that sinks Hinata’s heart deep into his stomach and makes him wrap his uniform’s blazer tighter around himself. He is sure to become an example, he just knows it - the mothers will tell their children about this boy, this teenager, who walked into the red-light district and was snatched away by mafia for a minor slight, and his body turned up a week later, sans the kidneys, in some canal in the neighbouring town. Hinata can only hope that at the very least the kidneys will be sold for a good price on the black market, he is young after all, his kidneys are without doubt in an excellent state-

“Say,” the man says, “that’s the Karasuno High uniform, is it not? You a student there?”

Hinata’s mind comes, stuttering, to a stop. He blinks. “Yes?”

“Which year?”

“Second.” He chokes up. He has a vision of the mobster strolling into his class, his cronies heaving Hinata up from his seat, taking him outside-

“Hm.” The man rubs his chin. He considers Hinata again. All of his previous anger is gone, having dispersed as quickly as it came, replaced by freezing concentration. “You don’t look like a highschooler.”

“People tell me that,” Hinata says. He doesn’t think it’s the height issue. He is average in that department, honestly. Maybe it’s his face.  

Hinata stares as the man turns to one of his cronies and thrust the crumpled paper cup into the crony’s hands. “Get me another one. Yes, vanilla.” He turns back to Hinata. “I’m going to need you to answer some questions, yes? No one is going to hurt you - scout’s word.” Hinata doubts that, hoping it doesn’t show on his face, but the mobster pays him little attention now, instead staring, eyes squinted, somewhere over Hinata’s head. “First - do you know anyone named Kageyama in your year?”

Hinata frowns. The name rings a bell, it does, but he can’t put it to any face. That is until Hinata remembers the photos of the classes in his year hanging in the corridor and the silhouette on one of them, next class over. “Yes,” Hinata says. “Kageyama. Kageyama, uh- Tobio? He’s in the class next to mine. I’ve never had anything to do with him. Wouldn’t want to - people say all kinds of stuff about him, like, he is supposed to be maf-”

Hinata clamps his mouth shut. The mobster rises an eyebrow. Yeah, Hinata, go ahead, start badmouthing mafia in front of a  _ mafioso _ , that’s one solid life decision-

The mobster rises his hand up to his forehead. “About yay tall? Dark hair? Blue eyes? Always looks angry for no apparent reason?”

“I don’t know about the eyes, but it sounds like him.”

The mobster rubs his hands. “Very well. My dear-” he snaps his fingers with impatience. “What’s your name again?”

Hinata hesitates.

“I’m going to have to learn your name if we are to walk away from here in peace,” the man says, voice bizarrely warm. Hinata bites the inside of his cheek.

“Hinata Shouyou,” he says, utterly resigned. What disgrace he is about to bring onto his innocent family because he was a careless idiot this one time? What entirely undeserved punishment-?

“My dear Shouyou, I have an offer - let’s say we forget about all that dirty suit business, yeah? Water under the bridge.” Hinata doesn’t even manage to get his hopes up before the mobster raises a single finger up. “Under a certain condition.”

“Yessir.” Hinata slumps.

“Attaboy.” The mobster claps him heavily on the shoulder, so hard that Hinata stumbles under the force of it. “Now. Let’s make a deal. I’ll forget all about this- this regrettable, pitiful suit situation. And you, dear, are going to do something for me.”

Hinata swallows. He can’t quite see any outcome other than Hinata becoming the mobster’s puppet, doing whatever the mobster tells Hinata to do. What is Hinata’s work going to be? Extorting cash from high schoolers? Doesn’t sound very profitable, and Hinata honestly doesn’t think mafia does such small fish these days. They seem to prefer placing their sticky, unyielding fingers in strategically chosen political situations, if the newspapers are anything to go by. He hopes the mobster isn’t running a long-term plan that way - Hinata doesn’t think he would do well as a politician. He can’t lie to save his life, for one.

Will it be drugs? It’s going to be drugs, isn’t it. Don’t people go to jail for prolonged amounts of time for selling? Distribution? Simple possession? Damn it all-

“Dear Shouyou, your task will be somewhat unusual,” the mobster says cheerfully. “You see, there is a certain, I think, lonely soul in desperate need of a friend. Close friend. Best friend, BFF, or whatever you kids call it these days. I’m going to need you to become Kageyama Tobio’s BFF,” the mobster says. His porcelain white teeth gleam when he smiles. “Without telling him it’s because I asked you to, of course. Obviously.”


	2. Chapter 2

Hinata jerks back. “What?”

The mobster’s grin is terrifying as he smiles even wider. “You-” he says, pointing a finger at Hinata, “-are going to become Kageyama Tobio’s best friend.”

Hinata stands, transfixed by the mobster’s gaze.  _ Oh, he is a madman. Great.  _ “But- Why?”

“Don’t concern yourself with that, it’s not relevant.” The mobster flips his hand. “While you’re out there, doing your very best to befriend Kageyama, you will make sure to let me know of the progress you’re making, yes?”

“But- I-”

“You will let me know. Once every week. Just a little report of how you’re faring.”

Hinata starts to shake his head. The mobster frowns and Hinata bits back another ‘but’ that really wants to leave his mouth. “Yes,” he says instead. “Yessir.”

The mobster nods in satisfaction. He extends a hand. “Your phone, if you will.”

Hinata pats his pockets; they are empty so he start to look around at his possessions scattered on the ground. The mobster is still standing in the very same pose, hand extended, polite smile on his face, when Hinata, his face scarlet and warm, places the phone in the mobster’s palm, after spending nearly two minutes with his hand in his bag, increasingly flustered because the phone just didn’t seem to want to be found, until finally Hinata found in the back pocket, tangled in things Hinata forgot he even owned. 

The mobster takes a look at the screen and shoves it back into Hinata’s face. “Unlock.”

It takes Hinata’s trembling fingers three tries to get the lock pattern right. By that time the mobster’s face turned stony.

The mobster types something in, then throws the phone back to Hinata. Hinata fumbles to catch it, saving it from crashing a mere inch away from the ground. When Hinata looks up from where he is kneeling on the pavement, the mobster’s eyes are trained on him.

“I’m expecting a report on this day next week.”

Hinata nods without a word. He pushes himself up and the three men surrounding him turn away. The mobster flashes him a grin and waves a chipper goodbye.

Hinata starts to raise his own hand then drops it immediately. He looks down - he is standing in the middle of the pavement, among his scattered textbooks and notebooks and papers and a pen that has started to leak ink. People passing by him are staring at him openly now.

Hinata jumps to pick up his things. Heat is creeping up his neck as he shoves them back into his bag.

 

How he managed to arrive at school, he isn’t sure. He has no recollection whatsoever of walking the rest of the way.

And, of course, he gets written up for being late. Again.

He can’t help but shrug at that. What is lateness penalty compared to having to deal with the mafia, after all? It’s not like any penalty the school can come up with could compare with the weight and the sharpness of the sword of the mafia situation hanging above his head, dangling there with the pointy part hovering just over his spine.

On the way to his classroom he passes by the rooms occupied by the parallel classes in the year - and among them, that Kageyama guy’s class. At the last moment, having hesitated and rolled on the balls of his feet, Hinata ducks and peeks inside. He can’t quite see what the teacher is writing on the blackboard, but his view of the students seating in rows is clear and he searches their faces, some nearly hidden, some bent over their notebooks - and there, in the middle row, just by the window, is Kageyama. He appears to be half-asleep, staring out of the window to his left, his chin propped up on his hand, paying little to no attention to what is happening in the front of the class, his eyes bleary. Hinata studies him for a moment, then shifts and realizes that the teacher in the front is looking at him, frowning, and the students too turn to look into the direction of the doors, following the line of the teacher’s sight.

Hinata flails back, nearly trips on his shoelace that came loose, and makes for a hasty retreat. Just a few steps ahead, he throws open the doors to his own classroom, interrupting the English teacher mid-word. She stares at him. He stares back, his hand still on the handle. The rest of the students in his class swivel their heads to look at him, snigger, and most turn back, only a few still watching him, eyes following his every move.

“Sit down, Hinata,” the teacher says, flips a page, and resumes reading out loud.

He closes the doors as quietly as he can, and tiptoes towards his desk. Someone looks at him reproachfully; someone grins. He shrugs minutely and winces when his chair scrapes on the floor.

Yamaguchi leans over when the teacher’s back is on them. “What was it today?” he asks quietly. “That made you late? Had to battle an ancient evil on the way to school?”

“It was mafia,” Hinata whispers back. Yamaguchi laughs out loud and claps a hand over his mouth when the teacher glares at him. Hinata would love to have a laugh too.

The lesson ends; another starts. He fills a few pages of his math notebook with equations mixed with drawings of a sword hanging above a stickman’s head. He goes out during a break, walks to Kageyama’s classroom, then veers in the other direction at the last moment. Next class arrives, next break passes, and Hinata sits in his seat, one foot tapping on the floor and one knee bouncing up and down, until he drives the teacher mad and gets sent to stand outside.

Like a child.

Hinata stands just outside the classroom doors, feeling the teacher’s gaze resting on his back once in a while and stares out of the hall’s windows at the tops of the trees in the yard where the leaves are turning yellow.

The leaves rustle, the sound coming in through the open window along with still warm air. Hinata watches one bright yellow leaf break loose of a branch and float up and down, and fly, spiralling, through the window and into the hall where it shuffles around, nosing this and that way, looking under the window ledges and into the corners. Hinata watches it, mind empty except for that one splash of yellow moving around.

Hinata jumps when a door down the hall bangs open; the leaf shoots his way and dances by his feet, hiding behind him. Someone exits the next classroom and turns into Hinata’s direction. Hinata crumples into himself when he sees Kageyama’s sour face.

He couldn’t know- Could he-?

But before another black thought swirls into existence in Hinata’s mind, Kageyama is a step away, right in front, and walking away, indifferent, just an iceberg passing a lone ship, carried by deep-sea currents.

Hinata breathes out and immediately breathes in, choking on air, his breathing having ceased the moment the doors down the hall have opened. Kageyama’s back disappears behind the corner.

Whether Kageyama comes back that way, Hinata doesn’t know - he is called back inside just a minute later and sits quietly, willing his leg still, for the rest of the class.

He sits up resolutely the moment it ends and sneaks out, dodging a few of his friends who turn to him with their lunches ready. “Sorry,” he calls out as he slides past everyone and into the hall. “Important stuff to do!”

He turns, steps bouncy, and falters in the doorway to Kageyama’s classroom.

Kageyama isn’t there.

He looks around, hoping he might just be sitting somewhere else, but no. There is no sign of him at all.

Instead, Hinata catches the eye of a few girls sitting by the doors and leans over towards them, smiling, petrified to his core because what is he thinking, talking to some girls he doesn’t even know- “Hi,” he says. His voice doesn’t falter and his confidence bursts up. “I’m looking for Kageyama. Do you know where he is?”

He must have said that louder than he intended too, what with his pulse beating loudly in his ears, or the Kageyama name is some kind of a watchword around these parts, because most of the people inside the classroom stop dead in their motions and turn slowly to stare at him.

“Um,” Hinata says.

“He isn’t here,” a boy at the end of the room says.

“I can see that.” Hinata rubs the back of his neck. “Do you know where-”

“Why are you looking for him?” a girl in the front asks, her voice trembling. “Is he making you do stuff, like illegal stuff, ‘cause if he is then you should just go to the teachers, they will know what to do-”

_ Oh boy. _

“No, no, no, I’m just-” Hinata takes a deep breath. Kageyama has even more of a reputation than Hinata had previously thought. “I’m just looking for him, honest. It’s nothing bad.”

They look among themselves, a few eyeing Hinata suspiciously as if the mere fact of associating with Kageyama made one, somehow, a bad guy too.

A girl from the group by the doors straightens. She brushes her skirt with her hands and avoids looking him in the eye. “I’ve seen him behind the gym a few times,” she says. “He might be there.”

“Thank you,” Hinata says, breathing out in relief. “Where exactly-?”

“You know the spot where the teachers used to smoke? By the bench?”

“Yeah, I- Yeah.” He hesitates. “Why ‘used to’?”

She bites her lip. “Kageyama started hanging out there and they abandoned ship.”

“Ah,” Hinata says. “That explains it.”

 

On the way to the gym he mulls over his options, hands folded behind his back as he walks. What is he even supposed to tell Kageyama? Where is he supposed to begin?

_ ‘Hey, I’ve heard nothing but terrible rumours about you, but if I don’t become your friend the mafia will sell my kidneys for spilling coffee on a mobster’s suit?’ _ Hinata snorts to himself.  _ Right, as if. _

He enters the walkway that would bring him to the gym if he headed straight - but he turns left instead and walks, gravel crunching under his feet, along the side of the school’s building. He crosses the yard and turns around the gym’s corner.

It’s quiet there. Out in the yard there are sounds coming from every direction - people talking, snippets of conversation falling out through the open windows, dull thumps of footsteps on the concrete. But there, behind the gym, noises dim into nothingness.

There is a gravel path and a row of trees at the side; the farther he walks the less of the noise he hears. He comes to the place where the teachers used to smoke - there is an abandoned ashtray laying on the gravel, and a bench under a small tin roof.

There is no one there and Hinata falters. Maybe he should go check out the school shop? Nurse’s office-? But then he squints and sees someone’s feet on the bench. Someone is lying down on the bench, legs curled up to fit on its short length.

Creeping towards the bench, Hinata cranes his neck.

Kageyama is sleeping, head pillowed on a bundled up jacket, face slack and peaceful, arms crossed on his chest. His breathing is so quiet and shallow that at first Hinata is afraid that Kageyama has gone and died there, which on second thought would free Hinata of his disastrous assignment - and that’s a terrible thought, actually - but then Hinata glimpses the small, undulatory rise and fall of Kageyama’s chest, and he slumps in relief. 

He shuffles on his feet, hesitating. He reaches out to the back of the bench and then slings back as if burned. He is afraid to wake Kageyama, of course he is. But he also doesn’t have a heart to rip Kageyama away from those dreams of his that render him so tranquil and untroubled - Hinata would have looked permanently pissed off too if he had things told about himself the likes Kageyama has.

He takes a step back, thrusting his hands into the front pocket of his jumper, and takes one last look at Kageyama. It’s- It’s like a dirty little secret, watching people sleep. Like taking a peek at something much more private than one should be privy to. He takes another step.

He stumbles on a discarded ashtray on the ground and it clatters so loudly he seizes up, frozen, in fear. Kageyama stirs awake, rubbing at his eyes, face still soft with the remnants of his sleep, and starts to sit up. Hinata doesn’t see anything else as he hightails out of there, running faster than he thought he was capable of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was supposed to post this chapter next week. Fuck schedules, we do what we want and when we want.  
> Btw if you spot any glaring, horrendous mistakes, I apologize - English is my second language and I don't currently have anyone I could ask to beta this fic. That being said, if you spot something, please do comment or drop me a line at [willow-mannequin.tumblr](https://willow-mannequin.tumblr.com/) (yes, the blog is empty, you're seeing right - im trying to battle my tumblr addiction by creating a brand new blog - LOGIC) and I'll fix it. Thank you <3


End file.
